


Still Into You

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon? What Canon?, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg's harpy of a wife won't be in it very long, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Texting, Virgin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: When Greg is dragged to a masquerade ball, the evening is sure to be a complete waste.Meanwhile, Mycroft is happily pretending to be someone he isn't.When their paths cross, sparks are sure to fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in just over a year. Expect typos, I have a mental block when it comes to seeing my own typing mistakes.
> 
> The rating might change from Mature to Explicit in later chapters.
> 
> The timeline of this is outside of the show. I'm not going to reference many events in the show, if any. I'm just playing with the characters, as is my wont.
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg sighed as he looked himself over in the mirror. He hadn’t been thrilled about attending this party -- sorry, masquerade ball -- to begin with, but when he saw the outfit his wife had laid out for him, he was suddenly downright miserable. The last thing he wanted to do was go to some poncy party where there would be no one interesting to talk to and he would inevitably be forced to dance some boring waltz with his on-again-off-again wife, who was sure to be off-again very soon. He wasn’t sure why he had even agreed to go to the damned party in the first place, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to avoid yet another marital failure. In twelve years of marriage, he had experienced maybe six months of true happiness: the rest had been merely him trying to fix a relationship that clearly wasn’t working.

Straightening the ridiculous mask on his face, Greg realized that he had only one thing to be happy about in this outfit: at least no one would recognize him.

***

Mycroft admired himself in the mirror. Dressed all in black, with his hair temporarily dyed black, and wearing a black mask, he looked particularly dashing. He rather enjoyed these masquerade balls, dressing as someone not himself was a rare treat. While Mycroft was an expert at being inconspicuous when he needed to be, most of his social obligations were with people who knew at least something of his position and afforded him the appropriate respect and awe. It grew tiresome.

But tonight Mycroft was in costume, and he could be whomever he wished. The possibilities seemed endless.

***

Greg stood by the wall, sipping at a glass of scotch. Caroline was off somewhere, mingling with her friends and ignoring her sulky husband. He had tried to put on a good show and seem cheerful, but she saw right through his act and disappeared immediately. Now he was annoyed and uncomfortable, the formality of the whole affair offending Greg’s simpler tastes. Trying to lift his spirits a bit, he studied the people in the ballroom, trying to see if he could recognize anyone.

As he watched the crowd, he noticed one man in particular. The man was wearing a very clearly expensive all black tuxedo. He was taller than Greg and quite fit. In the long years of his marriage Greg had found that most objects of his sexual interest were men. He had enjoyed many a night with attractive men in his twenties and now that he was older and a bit soured on women, he rather liked the look of a long, lean masculine body. Of course he never acted on his feelings, but looking and fantasizing weren’t cheating, which was certainly more to say for what his wife got up to when Greg wasn’t around.

The man was striding confidently from group to group, pausing to speak briefly to people, mostly men. Several of the men who earned his attention seemed dazed when he left, either unsure of how to react to what was said or too stunned to respond. Greg wondered just what the man was saying to have such an effect on so many. Feeling a familiar tingling low in his stomach, Greg closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His overactive imagination and unsatisfied libido would have to wait until after the party, when he was safe in the privacy of his own shower and could really give them the attention they deserved.

***

Mycroft became aware that he was being watched as he moved around the room, flirting with the many attractive men. Several people were watching him, but one in particular was someone he hadn’t approached yet. He surreptitiously studied the man, cataloging all of the things he could learn from the man’s appearance: unhappily married, bisexual, athletic, very attractive, and -- Mycroft stopped in his tracks, staring fully at the man as recognition hit him -- Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft decided that the opportunity was too delicious to let pass. He had always carried something of a torch for his brother’s police contact, but knew the man was married and thought he was straight. As he made his way over to the Detective Inspector he reflected on his oversight, concluding that he had failed to surmise the man’s true sexuality because the DI had kept his interest in men under tight control while in their usual places of discussion, usually crime scenes and the DI’s office, places where an overt show of any sexuality would be unwelcome.

The DI was standing with his eyes closed, as if thinking something important. It made it quite easy for Mycroft to sidle up to him, close enough to lean over and whisper in his ear, “Why isn’t a gorgeous man like you dancing?”

Greg jumped, opening his eyes and staring at Mycroft, breathing heavy from the start. “Excuse me?” he asked.

Mycroft curled his lips into an enticing smile, keeping his voice low and sultry. “It’s a crime for you to be abandoned in the corner like this. Someone should be enjoying your body on the dance floor. Come with me, let me show you what you should be doing at a ball.”

Greg licked his lips. It had been fifteen years since someone had spoken to him the way this stranger was, longer since he had been so tempted to jump a complete stranger. “I-I’m married,” he stuttered, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Mycroft chuckled, glad that his identity was still a mystery to the sexy detective inspector in front of him. “And if I had asked you to the loo for a shag, perhaps that information would be relevant. There’s no harm in dancing.” He reached out and took Greg’s hand, exhilarated at his boldness and the rough language he had used, two things that never happened, even when shrouded in anonymity and mystery.  
Allowing himself to be pulled to the middle of the dance floor, Greg found that he agreed with the stranger. Caroline was probably off with a stranger’s cock in her mouth, he might as well enjoy himself with some harmless dancing.

Mycroft pulled Greg to him and slid his arm around the shorter man’s back, pressing their bodies tightly together. He could feel a long-ignored part of his anatomy begin to stir, a surprising development. Flirting at these parties was enjoyable, but it was exceedingly rare for him to become physically aroused by it. It was rare for him to become aroused, by anything, in fact. Several decades had passed since Mycroft had entertained the idea of sex and his body had seemed to agree with him that any type of sexual relationship was improbable to the point of being an impossibility and had appeared to given up trying, like Mycroft had. There had been some flirtations and crushes in Mycroft’s youth, but nothing had come of them and it was only rational to give up on the idea completely.

But now here was was, moving gracefully around a crowded dance floor with a sexy, if a bit bewildered, man in his arms and sporting an erection. What an odd situation. If Mycroft didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he actually wanted his brother’s police man.

Greg let himself relax into the stranger’s arms, enjoying the sensation of being held. When he felt a growing hardness on his stomach he thought that he should perhaps end the dance, but decided against it. It was flattering, that he could cause such a reaction in a sexy man, even if he was a stranger. It gave Greg hope that after the eventual dissolution of his marriage he might find someone who actually wanted to share his bed.

“What’s your name?” Greg asked quietly, after a few minutes.

“That’s irrelevant,” Mycroft told him after a very brief moment of panic. “We’ll never see each other again after tonight, why should we bother with names?”

“I s’pose you have a point, though I’d like to have something to call you in my head besides ‘bloody sexy stranger.’”

A sudden flash of desire shot through Mycroft, making him jerk his hips slightly. Greg moaned quietly at the movement, feeling his cock rapidly filling with returned desire.

Mycroft allowed himself a low chuckle again, trying to force his brain to be amused about the situation rather than terrified at the unfamiliar feelings. He was no longer Mycroft, he was a different man entirely when in costume; the man he was wouldn’t be unsure of himself, he would know exactly what to say.

“Perhaps dancing isn’t entirely harmless after all,” Mycroft whispered, allowing his lips to graze Greg’s ear. He let out a small breath, causing Greg to shudder. “Would you like to stop?” The question was risky, but Mycroft was almost certain that Greg wouldn’t want to stop dancing if the room were on fire.

Greg cleared his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said after a moment. “We are dancing, which is perfectly innocent. I see no reason to stop.”

“Lovely, neither do I.”

They danced without stopping for nearly an hour. Greg was vaguely aware that Caroline would be unhappy if she saw what was happening, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Being desired was a heady experience that Greg had forgotten and this reminder was making him rather inclined to tell his wife to sod off.

Before Mycroft knew it, the music was slowing to the usual end-of-night song at parties like this and he became aware that many people had left. “It’s nearly time for us to part,” he said quietly.

Greg sighed and buried his face in the stranger’s neck, breathing in deeply. “I’d rather stay like this forever.”

Suddenly, like he was being ripped from a pleasant dream, Greg was seized by the arm and pulled roughly from his dance partner. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing, but we’re leaving,” Caroline hissed, leaning in close to him so those around them couldn’t hear.

“I need to say good night first,” Greg said, ignoring the flash of anger in her eyes as he turned back to the stranger who had saved his night. “Thank you for the lovely time,” he said with a smile and a nod of his head.

Mycroft steeled himself. It was nearing the moment of truth. He had been arguing with himself about whether to reveal himself or not. The thought of Greg knowing it was him was terrifying, but he felt there was a connection here, one that he didn’t want to lose. He was about to walk away without a word when Greg surprised him by reaching out and taking his hand to give it a squeeze.

“You have no idea what you’ve done for me tonight,” Greg told him earnestly.

With resolve, Mycroft smiled his real smile, the one he rarely used these days. “It was my pleasure, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he said in his normal voice, waiting for recognition to dawn in Greg’s eyes before giving him one final nod and turning to stride from the room with a confidence he certainly didn’t feel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't resist writing and posting chapter two tonight.
> 
> As always, there's probably typos and other errors, feel free to point them out so I might fix them.
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg barely heard Caroline’s ranting on the drive home, he was so shocked by the identity of his dance partner.   _ Mycroft? _ he thought, stunned.  It didn’t seem possible.  Mycroft was Sherlock’s aloof, prissy brother.  He wasn’t the type to press his erection into an acquaintance’s hip while whispering sexily.  Well, he may have been that type, but Greg certainly wasn’t the sort of person Mycroft would choose for such activities.

He had always found Mycroft sexy, in a posh, unattainable sort of way.  He had never disliked Mycroft, like many people did.  Mycroft could be infuriating, but he had mostly good intentions, if his interactions with people did leave something to be desired.  Greg had always thought of Mycroft as a pleasant acquaintance, it had never been a chore to have a conversation with him regarding Sherlock.

As they walked into their house, Greg realized that Caroline was still shrieking at him.  “What?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“You haven’t been listening!” she screamed, having worked herself up into a frenzy.  “Why don’t you ever listen to me?

When Greg just shrugged, she picked up the nearest handy object, a picture frame, and threw it at the wall.  It clattered harmlessly to the floor, the glass already broken from a previous argument.  “I can’t believe how you acted tonight,” she told him, tears welling up in her eyes.  “Practically shagging that bloke on the dance floor!”

“We were just dancing,” Greg said simply, lacking any desire to join her in the argument.

“He was almost licking you!  I wanted a cigarette just watching you.  My friends commented on your behavior tonight, you’ve embarrassed me for the last time!”

Greg looked at her.  It dawned on him suddenly: he was never going to be happy with her.  While he was happy once, that time was long over and he needed to stop lying to himself that there was hope for the future.  He could be happy, but it wasn’t going to happen with Caroline.  “You’re right.”

She looked triumphant for a moment, but then her eyes narrowed.  “What do you mean, I’m right?”

Greg nodded, his mind made up.  “I’ve embarrassed you for the last time.  It’s over.  Really over.  No more luring me back with mediocre sex and convincing me to stay because of our history.  I’m done.  I’ll leave in the morning.”  

“No, you’re leaving now, if you’re leaving.  I want you out of my house!” she shouted, surprised and unhappy.

“I’d rather have time to pack, but if you insist, let me just get a bag and…”

“No!  Out!”  She picked up another picture frame and threw it, this time right at Greg’s head.

Greg dodged the picture and shook his head sadly.  Caroline was usually the one to initiate their separations, so she had never acted quite like this before.  There was nothing to be done about it but leave, though, unless he wanted to press charges for domestic violence, which wasn’t bloody likely.

“I’ll come back to collect my things when you’re at work,” he told her and left.

Once he was in his car, he wasn’t sure where to go.  He could always go to a hotel, but hotels depressed him and he didn’t want to ruin the pleasant feeling that was still resting in his chest from his night.  Taking out his phone he scrolled through the contacts, trying to think of who would be accommodating to an impromptu house guest.  He flirted with the idea of calling Mycroft, but thought that might be a bad idea.

He scrolled back up to the Js and sent a quick text.

**Room on the couch tonight?  It’s actually over this time.  -- Greg**

The response was quick in coming, which was a relief.

**Always room for a mate in need.  What makes you so sure that it’s finished?  -- John**

Greg smiled, thinking of the magic of his evening, held tightly by strong arms while being led in a sexy, romantic dance.

**I left her.  I deserve better.  -- Greg**

**Brilliant.  You really do.  -- John**

Greg started to type a response about Mycroft, explaining the he had an idea where he might find someone better, if he could only come up with the courage to bring it up to the most intimidating man he knew.  After staring at his phone for what seemed like an eternity, he deleted the message and turned the key to his car.  No sense in getting his hopes up too far.

 

***

 

The next morning, Greg woke early and snuck back to his house to get some clothes.  Caroline worked an early morning shift on Saturdays, so he knew she wouldn’t be there.  He didn’t care for much in the house, so he just showered, changed, packed his two suitcases with everything he needed, left his house key on the kitchen table, and headed back to Baker Street, where John had invited him to stay until he had found other arrangements, despite Sherlock’s protests.  He left the suit Caroline had rented for him on the bed, but kept the mask buried in one of his bags, wanting something to remember the night by.

He ran up the stairs when he got there, feeling more cheerful than he had in years.  He jerked to a stop when he burst through the door and saw Mycroft sitting uncomfortably in John’s usual chair, looking around with his usual distaste.

Greg thought he saw a flicker of shock and something else -- embarrassment, perhaps? -- move across Mycroft’s face, but it was so fast that he couldn’t be sure.

“Good morning, Mycroft,” he said cheerily.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Sherlock snapped from his own chair, where he was curled up in a ball, glaring at Mycroft.

“Because it’s over.  I never have to go back to that house or those unhappy memories ever again.  And nothing, not even a cranky Sherlock, can take that joy away from me.”  Greg whistled as he moved to the kitchen and started making himself some tea.  He stuck his head back into the living room, feeling suddenly bold.  “Mycroft, might I have a moment of your time?”

“Is it about a case?” Sherlock asked, scrambling up.

“No, it’s a personal matter, Sherlock.  Boring legal things I’m sure Mycroft will be able to help with,” Greg responded without hesitation.

“I am afraid that I was just leaving,” Mycroft said in his usual calm, cool voice.  “I am certain there is a cut-rate solicitor somewhere who might help you, though.”

“It’s only a quick question, I’ll walk out with you.”  Greg abandoned the kettle and went to the door, waiting patiently for Mycroft to stand and make his goodbyes, which were short but definitely not sweet, as was to be expected.

They walked down the stairs in silence, but Greg blocked Mycroft when he went to reach for the front door.  He considered taking Mycroft’s hand but decided against that.  He knew that things were different in the daylight, out of costume, and he didn’t want to overstep any lines.

“About last night…” he started, hesitating when color rose quickly to Mycroft’s cheeks and a wild, frightened look filled the man’s eyes.  It was strange and definitely out of character, which just made Greg more interested.  He didn’t want to make Mycroft uncomfortable, however, so he decided to change his tactics.  “Don’t worry about it, mate.  It was a bit of fun between two strangers, right?”  He left a nice opening in case Mycroft wanted to correct him, so he could see how their relationship should proceed.

“Of course,” Mycroft said, regaining his composure.  “Two strangers,” he echoed quietly.

Greg nodded.  “I was wondering, though, if you might want to grab lunch sometime.  Just as friends, of course.  I don’t have enough friends outside of work, and I’m going to have a bit of free time now.”

“That would be pleasant,” Mycroft told Greg in his best politician’s voice.  “We will make plans to share a meal soon.”

Greg nodded, reaching out and clapping Mycroft on the back.  He knew the chances of Mycroft actually making plans with him were about on par with the likelihood of Greg returning upstairs to find Sherlock cooking him a full English breakfast to make him feel at home, but he liked hearing Mycroft lie and promise what he wasn’t prepared to offer, especially since they both knew it was a polite brush-off.  “Enjoy your weekend.”

He turned and walked up the stairs, feeling Mycroft’s eyes on him until he closed the door to 221B behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than I meant it to be, but I'm short on time today. :-) Hoping for a nice long next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Checking that the door to his office was shut and locked, Mycroft turned his attention to the file on his desk.  One of his operatives had done some research for him several weeks before and he had only just made the time to go over the report.  Taking a slow sip of his scotch, he opened the file.

“Subject has removed himself from 221B Baker Street.  Subject has leased a small flat.  Subject’s flat contains only a bed, no other furniture.  Subject leaves work late every night and drinks several pints of beer at a local pub before returning home.”

Mycroft frowned, reading the words over and over again.  There was some information about a few social engagements with coworkers and John Watson, but most of the report was very troubling.  This behavior was very unhealthy and Mycroft was concerned that it was continuing.  On a whim, Mycroft sent a text message to John before heading out to his car.

When he pulled up outside 221B, Mycroft was pleased to see John waiting for him, ignoring how disgruntled John seemed at being summoned to a meeting.  “What’s the emergency?” John asked, sliding into the car with a scowl.

Wordlessly, Mycroft handed the file to John and waited while it was read.  John looked up at him when he was done, frowning.  “Why are you spying on Greg?”

Mycroft smoothed his jacket, putting on his most disinterested face.  “I observe all who have contact with my brother.  This self-destructive behavior could put Sherlock in jeopardy and that is something I would rather like to avoid.”

John’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Mycroft.   _ Bugger, _ Mycroft thought, trying to keep his face as bland as possible.   _ John has spent too much time with Sherlock for this to work. _

“I’m not sure I believe that this is about Sherlock,” John said slowly.  “But whatever your reasons, I’m happy you told me about this.  I haven’t spent as much time with Greg as I should.  He’s too good at acting as if nothing is wrong.  Thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft nodded, happy that John was letting Mycroft’s interest in Gregory pass by with minimal acknowledgement.  “Well, since we are done here, I will just--” he reached out for the file, but John held it away from him.

“Maybe you should ask Greg out for a meal,” John said, cocking his head to the side to gauge Mycroft’s reaction.

Mycroft kept his emotions shut in an iron box in his mind, not wanting to betray himself any further to John.  He scoffed at the suggestion, though it was a near thing that he could sound so derisive about something he wanted so badly.  “Why on earth would I do such a thing?”

“Well, you’re worried about him.  When you’re worried about a friend, you ask him out for a meal, show an interest in his life.  I’m not suggesting anything untoward, Mycroft.  Just a friendly meal.”  John was smiling in a way that Mycroft didn’t like, a way that said he  _ was _ suggesting something untoward.

“I would hardly consider the man a friend,” Mycroft said, leaning forward slightly and snatching the file from John’s hands before John could react.  “Now if you please, I have pressing business.”

John shook his head as he opened the door.  Before getting out of the car, he turned back to Mycroft.  “You should let someone in, Mycroft.  And you couldn’t do much better than Greg Lestrade.”  His voice was calm and collected, not annoyed, John’s usual reaction to Mycroft’s presence.  It was strange that John was so calm about the situation and Mycroft resolved to study the interaction later, when he had a free moment.

Mycroft was so caught up in John’s tone of voice that he didn’t notice the other man had left.  Shaking his head, Mycroft rapped on the soundproof barrier between him and the driver and the car began moving.

After a few minutes, Mycroft pulled out his phone.  Before he could stop himself, he hastily typed in a message and sent it.

**I believe we agreed to share a meal, but I seem to have been negligent in the planning of said meal. --MH**

He put his phone back in his pocket, looking through the window and trying to pretend that he hadn’t just done something so foolish.  Within two minutes, there was a beep that told him Gregory had responded.  It seemed awfully quick, but Mycroft reminded himself that Gregory had very few social interactions.  Perhaps he was desperate enough for human contact that he would even entertain the idea of seeing Mycroft.

**Honestly, I just assumed that you were just trying to get away from me when you agreed to lunch. --Greg**

Mycroft considered the text.  Gregory certainly wasn’t wrong, but Mycroft didn’t know how to respond without saying something that might be offensive or rude.  Why did social interactions need to be so complicated?  If only everything were as simple as being in charge of the shadow government that actually ran the UK.  As he stared at the phone another text came through.

**You can be honest, it won’t bother me.  I know you’re not much for having friends. --Greg**

**You are correct.  Having a friend would be a novel experience for me. --MH**

Again, Mycroft pressed the “send” button before he could rethink his wording.  An uncomfortable tight feeling that Mycroft recognized as anxiety was beginning to settle into his chest.  He took a deep breath that didn’t help much.  It had been years since he had felt anxiety, not since he decided that social relationships were not for him and thought he should stick instead to business relationships and Sherlock.

**Well, glad I can be your first.  ;-) --Greg**

Mycroft wasn’t well-versed in flirting, that was true, but even he recognized what a winking emoticon meant in this context.  Feeling another wave of anxiety, he dropped his phone onto the seat next to him and shut his eyes, willing the emotion back into its proper place in the iron box.  If a little light flirting made him react so negatively, he certainly wasn’t ready for any kind of romantic relationship.  Perhaps he wasn’t even ready for a friendship, if he couldn’t maintain a tighter hold on his silly emotions.

While he was trying to push away the anxiety, his phone beeped again.

**Sorry, Mycroft.  Trying to lighten the mood with a joke.  Lunch would be nice one day.  I could really use a friend right now. --Greg**

_ How can he be so vulnerable? _ Mycroft asked himself, reading the most recent text over a few times.  Mycroft couldn’t imagine allowing himself to be exposed.  Pushing it from his mind, Mycroft mentally checked his calendar.  It was Friday, which meant that Gregory would be unlikely to be working the next day.

**Tomorrow? I will send a car for you at noon. --MH**

**Sounds lovely.  Thanks, mate. --Greg**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, particularly the dialogue, fought me quite a bit. Any thoughts on it would be greatly appreciated. :-)
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg slid into the car, breathing a sigh of relief.  It was nice to be going somewhere that wasn’t the pub for a change.  His whole life had seemed to unexpectedly take a turn for the worse, rather than getting better as he had assumed it would when he began his divorce proceedings.  Now instead of spending his nights fighting with Caroline, he was spending his time trying to fill the silence and loneliness in his flat.

“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Mycroft said coolly.

“Hello, Mycroft.  Having a nice weekend?”

“Not particularly.”  Mycroft pursed his lips, clearly about to say something that Greg knew he wouldn’t like.

“Out with it, Holmes,” Greg told him with a frown.

Mycroft let out a strange little breath, like he was forcing himself to do something.  He held a folder out to Greg, who took it silently and opened it to read.

It was a strange experience, reading about himself in a file.  “You’re spying on me?” Greg asked, looking up at Mycroft.

“You find that surprising?” Mycroft asked, looking like he was at a loss.

“Well, I know everything else that’s in here, don’t I?”  Greg was suddenly in a foul mood, annoyed at Mycroft bringing up something that he didn’t want to think about it.  “What are you trying to accomplish with this?”  He tossed the folder back at Mycroft, a gesture that was a bit ruder than Greg intended.

“I am concerned for your health,” Mycroft said, unfazed by Greg’s rudeness.

“Why would you care?”

Mycroft blinked slowly, the way he always did when he was out of his depth.  “As far as I am aware, friendship involves caring for the well-being of others.  I am woefully uninformed about everything that friendship entails, as you well know, but I am quite positive that a certain amount of concern is expected.”

Greg stared at Mycroft for a moment before a broad smile broke out on his face.  “Is that your daft way of saying that you care about me, Mycroft?”

“Of course I care, Gregory.  We are friends, after all.”

“Do you want me to stop drinking?”  Greg knew that he had been drinking quite a bit recently, but he didn’t think it was too far out of the ordinary.  He had always enjoyed a pint at the pub and had never considered it a problem.

“It isn’t the action, but rather the frequency that is worrisome.  Consuming alcohol to the point of losing consciousness every night is a bit excessive.”  It was clear to Greg that Mycroft was trying to sound detached.  It wasn’t working.

“I’ll cut back, mate.  I wouldn’t want you to worry about me.  I’m sure you have enough things to worry about without adding my foolishness in there.”  Greg reached over and gave Mycroft’s hand a squeeze, offering him a sincere smile.

There was a slight crinkling around the corners of Mycroft’s eyes and his mouth upturned slightly, making a warm feeling fill Greg’s chest.  He was thrilled that he was able to make Mycroft happy, even if it was over something as silly as Greg drinking one too many down at the pub.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft said in a low voice, dangerously close to the voice he had used the night of the masquerade ball.

Their eyes met and for a moment Greg was convinced that one of them was going to make a move.  Before anything could happen, however, the car came to a stop and the magic of the moment was broken.

“Where are we?” Greg asked, looking around.  It didn’t look like they were near a restaurant, it looked like a residential building.

“I fancied a takeaway,” Mycroft said, gathering up the file that he had shown Greg and making it disappear into a briefcase.  “So we’re at my flat.”

Greg was surprised.  He had never been to Mycroft’s flat.  In fact, he didn’t know that Mycroft even had a flat.  He had supposed that Mycroft lived in some kind of mansion that had housed Holmeses since the Norman conquest.

Greg followed Mycroft into the building, staying silent as they rode the elevator to Mycroft’s flat.  He was unsure what to expect and when he followed Mycroft through the door and saw it, he was at a complete loss for words.

The flat was nice, very well decorated, but not flashy.  Not only was it incredibly understated, but it seemed fairly small.  Mycroft gave Greg a quick tour: master bedroom, spare bedroom, loo, kitchen, living room.  The flat looked lived in, with small piles of papers and books everywhere.

“Are you well, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, studying Greg with an amused look on his face.

“This isn’t what I expected.”  Greg was trying hard to keep the wonder out of his voice, but he wasn’t very successful.

“And what exactly did you expect?”

“Honestly?” Greg asked and Mycroft nodded.  “Buckingham Palace.”

Mycroft laughed, making Greg stare.  He had never heard Mycroft laugh before.  Chuckle sinisterly, sure, but never a full-throated laugh.  “Oh, I have one of those, too.”

“You have a palace?”

“Well, something of the sort.  A rather large family home.  No one lives there anymore.  I find it too large for my tastes.  Occasionally I have need for it to make a visual impact and seem more impressive than I am.”

Greg couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.  The longer he knew Mycroft, the more full of surprises the man seemed to be.  “You mentioned a takeaway?” he asked, looking around for food.

“In here,” Mycroft said, leading the way into the kitchen, where there was a small table with two chairs.  “Get plates?” he asked as he started to pull containers out of a bag that sat on the table.

Greg nodded and opened a cabinet at random.  It was empty.  He shot an inquisitive glance at Mycroft, who pointed at the correct cabinet.  Curious, Greg opened the rest of the cabinets.  One held drinking glasses, one held plates and bowls, and the rest were empty.  Looking through the drawers, he found one contained silverware and the rest were empty.  When he turned to put the plates and forks on the table, he noticed Mycroft watching him with a curious expression on his face.

Greg didn’t say anything, he just walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.  It was completely empty.  The freezer held an ice tray and what appeared to be a bag of vegetables.

“Do you actually live here?” Greg asked as he returned to the table and sat down.

Mycroft blushed slightly, but chuckled, which put Greg at ease.  “I enjoy eating at restaurants with a frequency that is perhaps greater than is considered normal,” he said, starting to dish out the lunch.

Something clicking in Greg’s head, he nodded.  “Ah, I see.  You don’t know how to cook.”

“And I suppose you possess unrivaled culinary prowess?” The tone of Mycroft’s voice was light and teasing, something Greg had never heard from the normally cold man.

“I could probably teach you a thing or two.”

“Well, I anticipate our future cooking lessons.”  Mycroft chuckled again and dug into his food.

Greg joined him, his heart light and happy for the first time in months.  Perhaps this friendship would work after all.

 

***

 

After lunch they ended up sitting on Mycroft’s couch, talking and laughing in a companionable way that Greg hadn’t experienced in years.  Greg stretched and looked at his watch, shocked to see that it was nearly dinner time.  “This has been fun, Mycroft,” he said with a grin.

“I am forced to agree with you, Gregory.  I was unaware that friendship could be so pleasant.”  Mycroft’s eyes were twinkling with delight from the conversation.

“ _ That _ must be why so many people have friends!’ Greg teased.

“Many people enjoying something is not a reason for me to try it, Gregory.  Did no one ever discuss peer pressure with you?”

Greg laughed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day.  “I should probably head home.  I’m sure you have work to do or something.”

Mycroft shook his head.  “Nothing pressing.  My assistant would inform me if there were any matters that needed my attention.  If you need to leave, I understand, but--”

“No!” Greg said, perhaps sounding a bit too eager.  “I just didn’t want to hold you up if you needed to go be productive running the world.”

“I hardly run the world, Gregory.”

“True, it’s just one small country that holds an important place in the world.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood to stretch his back.  “What shall we do now, mate?”

“‘Mate’?” Greg asked, a bit alarmed at the use of the slang.

“I thought I would try it out.  I’m not sure it suits me, however.  I think in the future I will restrain myself from using such colloquialisms.”  Mycroft sat back down, his eyes still filled with mirth.  “We’ve eaten a meal, spoken at length on a variety of subjects, and enjoyed shared merriment.  What’s next to do as friends?”

“I think it’s time for an advanced friendship manoeuvre, Mycroft.  Time to watch crap telly.”  Greg turned to the large-ish television that hung on one wall.  “I assume you actually use this thing sometimes?”

“Ah, Gregory.  If only you knew,” Mycroft said.  He picked up a remote control and pushed a button.  Doors opened up on the wall next to the couch to reveal several shelves filled with movies.  Greg stood to look at them and realized that they were all action movies, mostly spy movies.

“What is this?” Greg asked, looking at the collection in awe.  He had never seen so many movies in one flat before, he hadn’t even heard of most of them.

“This is what I believe is termed a ‘guilty pleasure’.”

“Are you hiding any other guilty pleasures that I might be interested in?” Greg asked, unable to keep the look of wonder off his face as he considered his new friend.

Mycroft caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a strange look on his face, before letting out a small chuckle.  “I suppose you will just have to wait and see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to TheArtStudentYouHate for inspiration for the empty kitchen. It will play a part in a later chapter that should be a lot of fun. :-D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went a little bit sillier and shorter than I intended, but I'm happy with it.
> 
> Also, I'm planning on doing fan fiction for Camp NaNoWriMo in April. I'm trying to gather a list of story ideas so I don't run out of material (I'll be attempting to write 50,000 words). If anyone has anything they'd like to read, please email me or comment and I'll get it on my list. :-D

Mycroft grunted out a thanks as his assistant set a tea tray down on his desk, not looking up from his work.  It was a particularly busy day and he was hoping to be home before midnight.  No time for pleasantries when running a country.

He was aware that Anthea didn’t move after she set the tray down.  Normally she would leave the tray and leave him to it, maybe straightening a few things here and there or picking up paperwork that needed to be sent out.  Now, however, she stood there expectantly, waiting for him to acknowledge her or ask what she wanted.

When he pointedly ignored her, she loudly cleared her throat.

He looked up, fixing her with his best glare.  “Are you in need of a lozenge?”

“No, sir, I was hoping to speak to you,” she said, unfazed by his attitude.

“And you decided the way to accomplish that was by standing silently?  What a curious way to start a conversation.”  He flapped his hand dismissively at her.  “I’ll let you know if I require a baked accompaniment to the tea.”

Anthea narrowed her eyes and Mycroft knew he had her distracted from whatever her point, clearly about Gregory, was going to be.  She acted as a secretary for a variety of reasons, none of which were that her job was actually to be a secretary.  While she acted as Mycroft’s assistant, keeping his schedule and acting as intermediary when people wished to see him, she also had many other duties, some of which overlapped with Mycroft’s.  As far as importance in actually running the UK, she came second, after only Mycroft.  Her secretarial  façade was in place to hide her importance, just as Mycroft’s “minor position” hid his.  She had only begun fetching him tea when he started occasionally working in a normal governmental building instead of his secret office so the other workers in the building wouldn’t be suspicious and he had been convinced to double her salary for the indignity of the act.

Now he occasionally used it to distract her, though it seldom worked.  With Mycroft as her mentor, she had a tighter hold on her emotions than anyone he knew, with the exception of himself.  

_ Fighting with her boyfriend again, how tedious, _ Mycroft thought, returning his attention to the work in front of him.  Her only weakness was her fondness for interpersonal relationships.

“You can’t distract me from this,” she told him, her voice sounding amused.  “We need to talk about your Detective Inspector.”

Mycroft set his pen down and folded his hands in front of him.  “‘My’ detective inspector?  Are we involved in human trafficking now?  That seems unwise, based on international opinions about slavery.”

“You know what I mean.  You have feelings for him.”  She started tapping her foot impatiently and Mycroft knew he was stuck, unless he wanted to have the conversation in a less pleasant location, such as the next time they saw Sherlock.

“I assure you, I am harboring no inappropriate feelings for Gregory.”

“So he’s ‘Gregory’ now?  That seems awfully informal, sir.”

“Well, he is my friend.”  Mycroft immediately regretted the juvenile sentence when he saw the glint in her eye.  She was certainly going to make him pay for that one.

“Ah, a friend.  You’re right, you have so many of those, it’s silly for me to think this situation is different.”

Mycroft sighed.  “Anthea, what is your point?”

Her eyes softened around the corners and she gave him a small smile.  “I worry about you, Mycroft.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He was touched.  He knew that she enjoyed indulging in sentiment, but it had never extended to Mycroft before, as far as he knew.  He pushed away his instinct to belittle the emotion in her voice and nodded cordially at her.  “I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She hesitated for a moment and he could see the thought on the tip of her tongue,  _ Are you, though? _  She didn’t give voice to it, and instead nodded at him and left the office.

Now that he was thoroughly distracted, he took out his phone and opened the text message he had received from Gregory that morning.

**I had a great time the other day.  Would love to do it again.  It’s been a while since I had such a nice time with a mate that didn’t involve a pub. --Greg**

There was that word again, “mate”.  Mycroft wasn’t sure why, but it annoyed him.  There was no reason for his distaste for the word, which was perfectly fine, as long as Mycroft wasn’t the one to say it.  But when Gregory used it, he felt a stab of irritation that a reason he didn’t quite understand.

After rereading the text message for the thirtieth time, Mycroft finally decided on an appropriate response.

**I found it enjoyable as well.  Dinner next time?  I am free on Thursday.  --MH**

As soon as he hit the send button, he was filled with anxiety.  Was that too soon?  Did he seem eager?  It was less than a week after their previous shared meal, that certainly seemed like an unusual frequency for friends to meet.  He didn’t wish to show that he had very little understanding of how friendships worked and he certainly wished to avoid seeming overeager.

Mycroft had very little time to worry about his text, because almost immediately his phone chimed in his hands, making him drop it from surprise.

**Barring a nasty murder, I’ll be there.  My place this time.  I would send the address, but I’m sure you already know it.  --Greg**

Mycroft’s breath caught in his throat.  Was that a joke?  Was he meant to send some type of banter back?  Or was it a thinly veiled show of displeasure at Mycroft’s use of surveillance?

Just as panic started to set in at the meaning of the text, another one came through.

**;-)  --Greg**

Mycroft hit the button that summoned Anthea.  He knew she hated it when he used it, preferring to remain at her desk to do her work and communicating through emails or text messages, but this felt like an emergency.

“What is it?” she asked, sounding worried as she entered the office.

“What does this mean?” Mycroft asked, holding his phone out.

For a moment, he knew that she was wondering why he was wasting her time with a text message, but then understanding flashed across her face and she looked at the phone.

“It’s a winking emoticon.  Surely you know that, you’re not so out of touch.”

“Not the nonsensical combination of symbols.  What is the connotation of this usage?”  He was floundering, a very strange feeling for a man such as Mycroft.

Anthea looked unsure of what to say.  “He’s joking.  You want to know if he’s flirting?”  Feeling like the most overgrown child ever to exist but too concerned about the situation to care, Mycroft nodded.  Anthea shrugged.  “It could be flirting or it could be friendly.  Why don’t you ask him how he intended it?”

“Thank you, Anthea.  That will be all,” Mycroft told her curtly, taking his phone from her hand and looking down at his work.  He didn’t look back up until she had left, not wanting to see the guilt over not being able to help him that he was sure was written all over her face.

Of course he wasn’t going to ask Gregory what it meant.  He would need to just assume that it was meant in a friendly manner until evidence to the contrary presented itself.  If Gregory meant it any other way, Mycroft would know on Thursday.  Thursday was only three days away, he could wait until then.

 

***

 

Mycroft knocked on the door to Gregory’s flat Thursday evening, feeling uncharacteristically jittery.  He tugged at the ends of his sleeves, straightening them as he waited for an interminably long time, wondering what could be keeping Gregory.

Finally the door opened and Gregory’s face peeked out at Mycroft.  “C’mon in!” he said, breathing heavy.

Mycroft walked into the flat, taking in every detail of Gregory, who was still panting, like he had been running.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said slowly, looking around the small flat, “did you forget that you were having a guest tonight?”  Mycroft’s eyes darted to the door to the bedroom, which was open just enough that he could see piles of dirty clothes and books that had been hastily thrown through the doorway, leaving a tidy living room.  

Gregory rushed to shut the bedroom door, turning bright red and mumbling something about paperwork keeping him at the office.  Mycroft, considering what Gregory must have looked like rushing home to shove everything into the other room before Mycroft arrived, burst into laughter.

After a moment of staring at Mycroft, the blush left Gregory’s face and he joined in with the laughter.

When they were done, Mycroft had tears streaming down his face and he couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard.  He wiped his cheeks, little aftershock giggles escaping here and there.

“Come on, dinner,” Gregory said, leading the way into the tiny kitchen.

Mycroft followed him, trying to place the tangy smell that pervaded the room.  “What are we having?” he asked, looking curiously at the table.

“Ah, I was wondering if you’ve had them.  I guess that’s my answer,” Gregory said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Recognizing the food that was laid out on the table, Mycroft turned to Gregory, fixing him with one of his most intimidating stares.  “I most certainly have not ever eaten those...those…” 

“Buffalo wings!” Gregory exclaimed, practically bouncing up and down and ignoring the dangerous look on Mycroft’s face.  “They’re delicious, you’re going to love them.”

For a brief moment, Mycroft seriously considered leaving.  He could just walk through the door and tell Gregory to invite him back when he was prepared to provide real food.  Instead, he slowly removed his jacket, locking eyes with Gregory and deliberately unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows.

Gregory stared at him, surprised at the lack of fighting the messy meal.

Before he thought better of it, Mycroft licked his lips and said, “I am not the sort of man who avoids getting dirty when I need to, Gregory.”

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later, Mycroft was covered in hot sauce.  He had tried valiantly to keep his face clean, but every time he took a bite he ended up with sauce dripping down his chin.  After destroying the handkerchief he carried, he stopped trying and gave up.  He would just have to wash his face and hands as well as he could after eating, maybe take a bath in some acid to get the smell off of him.

For his part, Gregory seemed to think Mycroft covered in messy hot sauce was hilarious and continuously broke out in fits of giggles, watching him.

During one such fit, Mycroft cleared his throat loudly, making Gregory look up at him, worried he had gone too far.  “If you insist on behaving like an adolescent, Gregory, I shall have to treat you like one.”

“Oh?  What do you mean by that?”  Gregory bit his lip, trying to stifle his smile and failing miserably.

Mycroft looked at his hands, normally perfectly clean and white, now stained orange and covered in sticky sauce.  Without warning, he reached out with one hand and wiped it down the side of Gregory’s face, covering one cheek in sauce.

Gregory’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.  Something fluttered in Mycroft’s stomach at the amazed look on his friend’s face, an unfamiliar feeling that Mycroft tried to push away and ignore.  Distracted by his oddly physical reaction to Gregory’s surprise, it took Mycroft a moment to notice that he had reached out and rubbed his hand in the extra sauce left in the takeaway container.

Mycroft jumped up, knocking his chair over in his haste.  “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, looking down at Gregory’s messy hand.

“This is retaliation,” Gregory said in a playfully dangerous voice.  “You started it.”

Without warning, Gregory lunged for Mycroft, trying to grab at him with the messy hand.

Mycroft jumped to the left, successfully dodging the first grab, but unfamiliarity was his downfall.  He tried to back up to escape, but ended up trapped against the stove, where Gregory was able to corner him and exact his revenge, covering Mycroft’s face with sauce and leaving bright orange handprints all over his white shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I maaaay live in Buffalo, where Buffalo wings are from. And I maaaay have been eating wings for dinner tonight and I maaaaay have thought about how funny it would be for Mycroft to eat the messiest (and most delicious) food ever, super saucy wings. That's all hypothetical, though, I'm not admitting to anything. ;-) 
> 
> I have no idea if wings are a thing that people eat in London, but it's a big city so I'm sure they're available somewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a million short chapters, but at least I'm getting them out quickly.
> 
> I'm planning on doing fan fiction for Camp NaNoWriMo in April. I'm trying to gather a list of story ideas so I don't run out of material (I'll be attempting to write 50,000 words). If anyone has anything they'd like to read, please please please email me or comment and I'll get it on my list. :-D
> 
> Enjoy!

Standing in his kitchen, watching expressions of joy and delight pass over Mycroft’s sauce-covered face, Greg almost leaned in to kiss him.

Almost.

He stopped himself just in time, reminding himself that Mycroft wasn’t interested.  No matter how much his eyes lit up when he saw Greg, no matter how much they laughed together, no matter how happy Greg felt when he saw the stiff, formal  façade crumble away, revealing a sexy, vibrant man, Greg told himself that Mycroft had made it very clear that they were friends.

It didn’t help that when they were close in proximity like this, close enough to touch, to run his hand down Mycroft’s chest, Greg couldn’t help but be taken back to that night at the masquerade ball, the night that Greg had felt physical evidence of Mycroft’s desire.

“Oh, your shirt…” Greg said, suddenly realizing what a mess he had made.  Apparently he  _ had _ actually run his hand down that sexy chest, he hadn’t just thought about doing it.  Greg blushed, wondering exactly how much the shirt cost.   _ Probably more than my whole wardrobe _ , he thought miserably.

Mycroft shrugged, a smile still playing at his lips.  “It’s inconsequential.  I have other shirts.”

“Well, we should get you out of it.”  When Mycroft raised one eyebrow at this suggestion, Greg wished the floor beneath his feet would give out.  “Just--just because that one’s wet and it can’t be comfortable.”  Greg took a deep breath and a step back.  He was speaking way too quickly and Mycroft could practically read minds: if Greg didn’t fix how he was acting quickly, it would be very obvious to Mycroft that he wanted more than friendship and then Greg wouldn’t have anything.

“I am afraid I don’t have anything else with me.  I am resigned to my sticky fate.”

“I have shirts!” Greg said, his voice coming out as a squeak.

“I suppose it would be logical to borrow a shirt for the evening.”  Greg blinked at Mycroft, his brain moving very slowly.  Was that a yes?  Greg didn’t know.

Mycroft chuckled low in his throat, a sound that went straight to Greg’s cock.  “I would appreciate it if you lent me a shirt, Gregory.”

Greg nodded and went to get a shirt from his disastrous bedroom, making sure to find a clean one.  It wasn’t anything fancy, just a tee shirt from his work rugby team.

While Mycroft was changing into the clean shirt and washing up in the loo, Greg’s phone rang.  He vaguely registered Mycroft’s phone ringing at the same time, but he stopped paying attention when he heard that it was Sally Donovan yelling something about a crime scene.  He heard Sherlock’s name and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.  Sally told him the address and he said he’d be right there, wondering how he was going to tell Mycroft he had to cut their evening short.

“Gregory, I’m afraid I have to leave,” Mycroft said, coming out of the bathroom.

If he hadn’t been mentally preparing himself for dealing with drama between Sherlock and Sally, Greg might have embarrassed himself at the sight of Mycroft in one of Greg’s shirts.  It was incredibly erotic, seeing that body in something Greg owned, almost like Greg owned Mycroft.

“Did Sherlock call you?” Greg asked, realizing that Mycroft was talking.

Mycroft nodded.  “There’s something happening at a crime scene and… Ah, it’s one of yours.”

Greg nodded.  “Do you want to drive together?  If it doesn’t take that long, maybe the night won’t be a waste.”

Mycroft studied Greg’s face for a moment, in that way that Greg knew meant he could read every thought in Greg’s head, and then nodded.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Greg was relieved to see that everyone seemed too distracted to see Greg get out of Mycroft’s car.  Mycroft was still wearing Greg’s shirt, of course, but he had put his suit jacket on over it and it was dark out, so there was a chance people wouldn’t notice.

Greg and Mycroft waded through the crowd of people to where Sherlock and Sally were still yelling at each other.  When they got there, Greg nodded hello to John, who gave him an odd look.  Unable to understand what exactly the problem was, from anyone’s point of view, he stood between the two of them, telling Sally to go away so he could speak to Sherlock.  It was always easier to deal with them one at a time.

Sally retreated a few steps, but stayed close enough to hear what was said.

Greg turned to Sherlock, who had stopped yelling.  “Okay, now, Sherlock what--”

“What are you  _ wearing _ ?” Sherlock said suddenly, turning to Mycroft.

Greg groaned inwardly.  Of course Sherlock would notice, why wouldn’t he?  Mycroft, unsurprisingly, didn’t react at all, he just shrugged disinterestedly.  “A shirt, brother.”

Sherlock reached out and pulled Mycroft’s jacket open.  “Lestrade, why is my brother wearing a police force rugby shirt?” he asked, purposefully being loud enough that everyone heard.

Greg could feel his cheeks burning, but he tried not to react.  “That really isn’t any of your business, is it?” he asked, turning to survey the scene.

“ _ My brother _ , Lestrade?”  Sherlock’s voice was almost a shriek.

“We’re not discussing it, Sherlock.  Now.  Will someone please explain to me why my perfectly lovely evening was interrupted because no one here is able to act like a bloody adult?”  Greg had his best detective inspector voice on and was glaring at everyone at the scene.  He didn’t miss Mycroft’s eyes widening slightly at “perfectly lovely” or that some of his people had started to whisper to each other.  He certainly didn’t miss that John was staring at him, wearing the most horrified look Greg had ever seen.

It took all of two minutes to sort out the argument, a time frame that didn’t particularly cheer Greg up.  He made a mental note to have a stern talk with Sally about professionalism and then went over to where Mycroft and Sherlock were talking.

“Why do you both have some sort of vinegar-based sauce on you?” Sherlock was demanding.  “Did you take a bath in it?  Together?”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh at that.  When Greg started, he saw the corners of Mycroft’s mouth turn upward as well, but he held firm.  Sherlock didn’t miss the change in Mycroft’s expression, however, and made retching noises.

“Back to mine?” Greg asked Mycroft with a smile.  He may have kept his tone a bit suggestive, just for the pure joy of torturing Sherlock.  Mycroft didn’t miss the tone, pursing his lips in the special way he did when he was trying especially hard not to smile.

“I would be amenable to that,” Mycroft said, his voice pitched low.

Greg knew that he was going to get hell from his team for dating Sherlock’s brother, but he was having too much fun to care.  He turned, waved at his team, then held his arm out to Mycroft.

Mycroft hesitated and then took the arm, walking with Greg back to Mycroft’s car.

Once they were safely inside, Mycroft burst into laughter, burying his face in his hands.  “Gregory, I believe we just came out as being in a relationship to your underlings and my brother.”

Greg chuckled.  “They’ll probably survive the shock.  We can straighten it all out later.  There was no reason for them to call us here, just childishness.”

Mycroft nodded, eyes twinkling.  “Well, we have learned tonight that the only appropriate response to childishness is childishness, haven’t we?”

 

***

 

The next morning when Greg walked into his office, John and Sherlock were waiting for him.

“I want you to know that this situation is completely inappropriate and I--” Sherlock started, jumping up, as soon as Greg entered the room.

“Oh shut up,” Greg muttered.  “Mycroft and I are just friends.”

“Friends?” John asked.  “How exactly are you friends with Mycroft?”

Greg frowned.  If anyone understood Greg’s friendship with Mycroft, it should have been John, best friends with Sherlock bloody Holmes.  “We enjoy spending time together.  That’s generally the basis for a friendship.”

“If you aren’t shagging, you will be soon,” Sherlock announced.  “And I can’t have that, Lestrade.”

“ _ What _ ?” Greg asked, his voice sounding more strangled than he intended.

“Don’t make me discuss your sexual tension with my brother, please,” Sherlock said with a groan.  He huffed out a sharp breath and spun on his heel, leaving the room without another word.

“He’s insane,” Greg said to John.

“Greg, I saw it,” John said quietly.

“Saw what, exactly?”  Greg sat behind his desk, frowning.  It wasn’t like John to back Sherlock when he was being ridiculous.

“Whatever it is between you and Mycroft.  He’s interested in you.”  It sounded like it pained John to say the words, but he forced them out.

“Stop talking rubbish, John.”

“He smiled at you, Greg, when you weren’t looking.  He looked at you and actually smiled.  A real smile.”

Greg’s head was spinning.  A smile didn’t mean anything, did it?  “John, we’re friends.  Friends smile at each other.”  He forced conviction into his voice, made himself sound as sure as possible, even though he was starting to doubt himself.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have paperwork to do.”

As soon as John had left, Greg pulled out his phone.

**John and Sherlock don’t believe that we’re just friends. --Greg**

He set his phone down next to the form he was filling in, hoping to get a response soon.

When he left to go home at the end of the night, he still didn’t have a response from Mycroft.

Even more disturbing was that there was a sleek black car on the curb next to his flat and when the door opened and someone stepped out, it wasn’t Mycroft.  It was his assistant, Anthea or whatever her name was.

“Can I help you?” Greg asked, staring at her.

“I’d like to speak with you privately,” she said, doing her best impression of Mycroft’s intimidation stare.  It was working.

Greg invited her in, standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, unsure of what to say.   
“I’d like to discuss your  _ friendship _ with Mr. Holmes,” she began.

There was something Greg didn’t like about the way she said “friendship” that made him want to correct her.  “We are just friends,” Greg assured her.

She looked surprised and he could tell that she was cataloging his reaction in her head, filing it away somewhere in her undoubtedly gigantic brain for later use.

“Of course.  I don’t believe I suggested otherwise.  I just wanted you to be aware that if anything were to happen between you and my employer, you would need to proceed carefully.”   
“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”  This conversation was making Greg uncomfortable, this woman talking about a potential relationship with Mycroft.   _ If I should be talking to anyone about this, it’s Mycroft _ , Greg told himself, frowning.

“No, he doesn’t.  I know you’re aware that he has security people.  But he also has me.  And if anything happens to hurt Mycroft emotionally, I’m the one you’ll have to deal with.  Do you understand me?”

Greg stared at her.  “Isn’t the timing a bit inappropriate for the ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you’ speech?  We’re not dating.”

“I just wanted to ensure that you understand perfectly.  In case.”

“In case what?” Greg asked, getting annoyed.

“In case you decide to pursue a romantic entanglement with him.  I’ll be here, watching.”  She nodded a goodbye to him and left.

Incredibly confused about what just happened, Greg did the only reasonable thing he could think to do.  He pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

**We need to talk.  It’s important.  --Greg**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter this time.
> 
> I'm planning on doing fan fiction for Camp NaNoWriMo in April. I'm trying to gather a list of story ideas so I don't run out of material (I'll be attempting to write 50,000 words). If anyone has anything they'd like to read, please please please email me or comment and I'll get it on my list. :-D
> 
> Enjoy!

Mycroft took a deep, steadying breath and looked at his latest string of messages with Gregory.

**We need to talk.  It’s important. -- Greg**

**Have you eaten?  Sharing meal is always enjoyable.  --MH**

**Maybe after, but we need to talk first, no distractions.  Are you home?  I can be there in ten minutes.  --Greg**

**I’m here. --MH**

He wasn’t sure what Gregory wished to discuss with him, but it was making nervous.  Perhaps he had decided that being friends with Mycroft was too complicated, what with everyone thinking they were in a romantic relationship.   _ He’s the one that made people think that _ , a small voice in the back of Mycroft’s mind pointed out, but he quieted that voice easily.  There was no sense in getting excited over nothing.

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft let Gregory in.  The smile on Mycroft’s face faded when he saw Gregory, who looked like he was about to be violently ill.

“What?” Mycroft asked quietly.  “What is it?”   
Gregory strode into the room, a sense of determination pushing through the nausea he was apparently experience.  He paced back and forth in the small space a few times while Mycroft shut the door and turned to watch him.

Suddenly, Gregory turned to study Mycroft’s face.  “Everyone thinks we’re interested in each other.”

Mycroft forced his face to be neutral, knowing that every twitch and movement was being carefully observed.  Gregory was no Holmes, but he was still a detective.  “Well, you certainly suggested that last night.  I suppose it seemed humorous at the time?”

Gregory’s eyes were filled with an emotion that Mycroft couldn’t place.  In fact, Mycroft had never felt more out of his depth when it came to reading someone.

“Anthea came to see me.”

It was so surprising and sudden that Mycroft’s careful mask slipped into an expression of shock.  “She-- _ what _ ?”

“She came to give me the old ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ routine.”  Gregory spat the words out, like the thought that a conversation like that was totally unnecessary.

“Gregory,” Mycroft murmured, his voice much softer than he intended.  “I apologize for her actions.  I will speak with her at once.  It will not happen again.”  He was already considering the nasty assignments he could send her on, where he could force her to go to learn that she needed to keep her nose firmly in her own business.

“That’s not necessary.  She’s just looking out for you.  I like that you have her to care for you,” Gregory gave a small smile.

Yes, Mycroft recognized that smile.  The “letting the odd boy down easily” smile.  Of course he wasn’t a boy now.  He was a man, far too old to have let things get this far.  He was still odd, however, that much was painfully clear.  Gregory was a good man, a man who wouldn’t want Mycroft to be hurt, so he would be kind and sweet, as he always was.

“I value your friendship,” Gregory continued quietly, avoiding Mycroft’s gaze.  “I haven’t enjoyed spending time with someone so much in ages.”

A warm, pleasant feeling was spreading in Mycroft’s chest.  Gregory liked being his friend.  He wanted to continue to be friends.  Mycroft wanted that too, of course.  He didn’t want to lose what he had built with Gregory, the closeness they had achieved in a short amount of time.  Nothing could threaten that.

Gregory cleared his throat, interrupting Mycroft’s thoughts.  Mycroft looked up, questioning, afraid that his vulnerability was showing on his face, showing how pathetic he actually was.

“I just want to make sure we’re clear where we stand with each other.  Open communication is important in any kind of relationship, otherwise you can have all sorts of awkward misunderstandings.  Are you interested in me romantically or just as a friend?”

Panic clawed at Mycroft’s mind, making it difficult to focus.  

What should he say?  

Did he tell the truth, that he had been unable to keep Greg from his mind since the ball those months ago?  

Did he tell the gorgeous, sexy man in front of him that he thought he might be falling in love for the first time?  How humiliating that would be, at Mycroft’s age.

_ Observe, you idiot _ , Mycroft admonished himself, forcing his attention to Gregory’s face.  Gregory looked like Mycroft felt, filled with terror at what Mycroft might say.

And suddenly, it all became clear.  Understand snapped into place in Mycroft’s mind and he knew what to say.

He couldn’t ruin this friendship.  It was too important.

Forcing his emotions back in their iron box in his mind, he clamped it shut.  And buried it.  And put some heavy furniture on top of it.  He needed to control himself if he was going to keep Gregory in his life.

He couldn’t lose Gregory.

That was paramount.

“I value our friendship as well,” Mycroft heard him say in his usual, measured voice, as if he were listening to a recording of the conversation.

Something washed over Gregory’s face, but Mycroft couldn’t tell if it was relief or pain.

Relief, definitely.

Gregory was smiling, now, letting out a nervous laugh.  “Well, that’s sorted.  Are you hungry?  I’m famished.”

Mycroft nodded, feeling numb.  The emotions were trying to escape, trying to ruin everything, like they always did.  The world seemed less alive without them, somehow, like the past week had been incredibly different because he had allowed himself to feel.  There was a slight numbing sensation in Mycroft’s mind when he looked at Gregory, that made everything feel dull.

But at least he hadn’t lost Gregory entirely.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's another short one. They're coming hard and fast right now and I'm posting as I write them, so I'm hoping to get another chapter up soon.
> 
> Thank you for the comments, everyone, I really love them, every time I falter in my writing I get a boost when I see a new comment. :-)
> 
> Also, I'm planning on doing fan fiction for Camp NaNoWriMo in April. I'm trying to gather a list of story ideas so I don't run out of material (I'll be attempting to write 50,000 words). If anyone has anything they'd like to read, please please please email me or comment and I'll get it on my list. :-D
> 
> Enjoy!

Life settled into an easy rhythm for Greg.  He shared a meal with Mycroft once or twice a week, usually ending back up at Mycroft’s flat, working their way through his absurd film collection.  Sometimes they were at Greg’s flat and ended up talking into the small hours of the morning, laughing and joking like adolescents.

Greg had never formed such an easy connection with anyone.  Everything in his life was better now that Mycroft Holmes was his best friend.  He couldn’t remember the last time he was so happy and people were noticing it.

One Friday night, he was at the pub with John.  They hadn’t been spending much time with each other, but John had asked Greg out “to talk.”

They were each a pint in, sitting together in awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say.

“What’s really between you and Mycroft?” John asked after a long silence.

Greg rolled his eyes.  Not this again.  “I told you, John.  Nothing.  Friendship, that’s it.”

“Sherlock’s convinced--”

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less what Sherlock thinks he knows,” Greg interrupted him, knowing he was being incredibly rude and not caring.

“Oh.”  John’s voice was soft.  He took a long drink of his pint and sighed.  “Have you told him how you feel?”

Greg avoided looking at John’s face.  “We’re just friends, John.  Like you and Sherlock.”

“I’m sorry, Greg.”

Greg looked up at that to see tears in John’s eyes.  “Have you told Sherlock how you feel?”

John shook his head.  “You know Sherlock.  It’s impossible.”

Greg let out a long sigh and drained his glass.  “Well, there’s only one thing for it, then.”

John smiled and raised his hand to the bartender to order two more pints and then finished the one in front of him.  “Only one way to get the Holmeses out of our heads for the night, eh?”

 

***

 

Greg was stumbling, falling.  He had dropped John off at Baker Street and was trying to find a cab back to his own flat.  He couldn’t find one and ended up trying to walk, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

The next thing he knew, strong arms were catching him.  He looked up into cold blue eyes that softened into a warm look when Greg’s own eyes locked with them.

“Mycroft,” Greg murmured, letting himself be helped into a car.  He shut his eyes and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, feeling a sense of peace.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s a good thing,” Mycroft said in a hushed voice, putting his arm around Greg’s shoulders.

“Mmhmm.  I’d be lost without you.”  Greg thought that he should perhaps stop talking, but he didn’t want to.  He needed to tell Mycroft how he felt and he wasn’t sure he’d have another opportunity.

“Well, you are rather inebriated.  Without someone to take you home, there’s no telling where you have ended up.”  Mycroft’s voice sounded cold, not like it usually did when he was talking to Greg.  Greg didn’t like it.

“I like the idea of you taking me home,” Greg mumbled, turning his head so his face was nestled in Mycroft’s neck.

With a vague sense that he wouldn’t be permitted to sit like this for very long, Greg breathed in deeply, hoping that he would remember this the next morning.  The last thing he needed was to ruin everything over something he wasn’t even going to recall.

“Okay, Gregory.”  Mycroft sounded like he was indulging a child in a fantasy.

_ That’s what he is _ , Greg told himself.   _ A fantasy.  My fantasy. _

Before the last rational part of his brain was able to stop him, Greg was tilting his face up so that he could kiss Mycroft’s neck.  As Mycroft tensed up Greg bit gently at the creamy white neck before pressing a firm kiss to his pulse point, feeling the racing heartbeat underneath.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said breathlessly.  “What are you doing?”

Greg kissed up Mycroft’s jaw and gently nibbled his earlobe.  “Is this okay?” he whispered.

“You’re drunk.”  Mycroft sounded strained.

“Your fault.  Only way to get over a Holmes, really.”  Greg sighed and pressed more kisses along Mycroft’s jaw, aiming for his mouth.

WIthout warning, Mycroft pulled away from Greg, making him fall down against the seat.  The door was open and Mycroft had slid out of the car.

Greg’s foggy mind suddenly understood that he had done something terribly wrong and he crawled out of the car, struggling to his feet.  “Mycroft, I…” he started, but nearly as soon as he was out of the car, Mycroft was back in it and the door was shut.

Looking around as the car drove off, Greg realized that he was outside his flat.  He let himself in, trying to figure out through the fog of alcohol what he had done wrong.

Oh.

Obviously.

He was an idiot.  They had discussed it.  Greg had asked Mycroft if he was interested and Mycroft had clearly said he wasn’t.  Now Greg had tried to jump him and Mycroft had, understandably, removed himself from the situation as quickly as he could.

Greg was an idiot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one with a bit of a cliffhanger at the end.
> 
> Next chapter should be up tonight sometime.
> 
> This is going a bit different than I anticipated at the beginning. You know how it is, characters not behaving and such. :-)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Mycroft, I am so sorry.**

**SO SORRY.**

**Please tell me we’re okay.**

**Please, please, please forgive me.**

**Please?**

**Okay, I get it, you’re not going respond.  But I need to tell you again: I’m sorry.**

**Your friendship is really important to me.**

**I should stop texting you, you obviously don’t want to hear it.**

**I can’t believe I fucked up the best thing in my life.**

**I’ll do anything you want to make it up to you.**

Mycroft read over the messages from the previous week again, his hand poised over his phone, trying to figure out how he was going to reply, as he had so often over the last seven days.  He wasn’t angry with Gregory, he just didn’t understand what had happened.

Anthea had come into his office as he was ready to depart for the night with the news that Gregory was having difficulty getting home after a night at the pub with John.  He directed his car to Baker Street to see if he could help and found Gregory stumbling along, extremely inebriated.  He got him into the car to get him home safely and everything was fine, except for bloody John Watson leaving Gregory on his own.

Then Gregory was flirting, which Mycroft was able to take in stride, just like when Gregory let a flirting quip loose any other time.  Without warning, however, Gregory was kissing him, on his neck, his ear, his jaw, making Mycroft feel things that he didn’t want to feel.

He didn’t want to feel those things for Gregory, who may have liked to flirt but didn’t want to be with Mycroft.

He didn’t want to feel those things for his best friend, his only friend.

He didn’t want to ruin everything.

And then the trajectory of Gregory’s mouth became clear and Mycroft panicked.

He dumped Gregory outside his flat, didn’t even make sure the man got inside, and just left.  He left him there, on the street.

Mycroft didn’t want his first kiss to be like that, to be with his drunk best friend.  It was a silly thing to care about, his first kiss, at Mycroft’s age.  He had thought he was past all that, past caring about kissing.  It was sentimental.

Mycroft despised sentiment.

Well, he had.  Until Gregory.

But Gregory had clearly been uninterested in anything but friendship and Mycroft tried to ignore the sentiment.  But then, what happened in the car?  Why did it seem like Gregory wanted more?  And why did that thought make Mycroft’s heart beat so hard and a blush rise to his cheeks?

Pressing one of his cool hands to his heated cheek, Mycroft took a deep breath and sent a message back.

**Coffee?  We need to talk. --MH**

The response was immediate, as if Gregory had been waiting.

**Tell me when and where. -- Greg**

 

***

 

Mycroft nervously approached the cafe to see Gregory sitting at a table outside, tapping on his phone.  Gregory was putting on a good show of normalcy, but Mycroft could see the panic lurking under the surface.

Mycroft cleared his throat and Gregory jumped up.  “I -- uh, I got you a coffee,” Gregory said, pointing at a paper cup on the table.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said as they both sat down.  “We need to talk about--”

“I am so sorry!” Gregory broke in.  “What I did was awful.  You made your feelings about me very clear I shouldn’t have let myself… Well, that’s not important.”

For the first time ever, Mycroft’s brain stopped processing.  What was Gregory talking about?

“‘Let yourself’ what?” Mycroft asked, leaning forward.

Gregory stopped babbling, surprised.  “Let myself show how I feel.”

“How you feel…?”  Mycroft was sure he sounded like a complete idiot, but he couldn’t stop himself.  He had absolutely _no idea_ what Gregory was talking about, but he knew that he needed to find out.

“About you,” Gregory whispered, his eyes wide and scared.

Mycroft froze.  Was Gregory saying what Mycroft thought he was saying?  It didn’t seem likely, not after everything that had happened, but there was a small part of Mycroft that was hoping that he was reading the situation right, reading Gregory’s intention, the care in his eyes correctly.

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond when Gregory’s face changed.  His eyes darted behind Mycroft and his mouth opened in a shout.  Suddenly, he was lunging across the small table and Mycroft was being tackled.

The last thing Mycroft knew before losing consciousness was a sharp pain in his back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! This one fought me a bit, so it took longer than I expected. I'm hoping to get the next chapter written and up tonight, too. I'm thinking maybe three or four chapters left, so I might be able to finish it up tomorrow. :-)
> 
> I'm still looking for story ideas for Camp NaNoWriMo in April, so if anyone has an idea they'd like to see written, email me or comment it. Mystrade or Johnlock, doesn't matter to me. :-)
> 
> I hope everyone likes this one!

Everything was happening so quickly.  The cafe was suddenly swarming with people and Greg was pulled off of Mycroft, who was lying motionless on the ground.  It wasn’t until Greg found himself in the back seat of Mycroft’s car that he realized he was covered in blood.

Feeling sick, Greg realized that it wasn’t his blood.  And there was a lot of it.

When the car pulled up at the hospital, a man Greg had never seen before opened the door and pulled him out by the arm, walking him through the building, which was eerily empty.

Greg was left in a waiting room.  After a few minutes, during which Greg stared stupidly at the floor, feeling numb, a doctor came in and checked Greg over.  When he was about to leave, Greg caught his arm.  “Mycroft?” he asked, his voice wavering.

The doctor shrugged, pulled his arm away from Greg and left him there.

“Greg!” a voice shouted and Greg looked up to see John and Sherlock coming toward him.  “What happened?” John asked, pulling Greg up into a hug.

“I don’t know,” Greg told him.  “There was a man with a gun and I just reacted.  Now I’m here and I don’t know what’s happening.”

John and Sherlock exchanged a look and Sherlock strode off, going through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only”.  John pushed Greg back into his seat and sat down next to him.  “Sherlock will find out for us.”

Greg nodded.  He had no doubt that Sherlock would find someone to annoy, but he wasn’t sure how much even he might be able to find out.  The hospital had apparently been cleared for Mycroft, with that kind of machinery in motion there was probably very little anyone could do.

They sat there for an eternity, Greg staring through the windows on the door Sherlock had gone through.  Suddenly a group of people came into view, among them Sherlock, Anthea, and a still form being pushed in a hospital bed.

Greg scrambled up and rushed through the door.  One of the doctors broke off from the crowd around the bed and approached him.

“Family only,” the doctor said firmly.

“Is he okay?” Greg asked, desperate for information.

“You aren’t family, you know we can’t tell you anything.”  The doctor sounded annoyed, waving his hands dismissively at Greg and practically pushing him backwards through the doors into the waiting room.

Greg saw Anthea pause and say something to the doctors.  They seemed to argue with her and her eyes flashed angrily.  The group looked through the doors at Greg, standing there, and then the doctor who seemed to be in charge nodded.

The whole group started moving again, but Anthea broke off and came towards Greg.

“What’s happening?” Greg asked.

Anthea gave Greg a small smile.  “Thank you, Detective Inspector.”

“What?” Greg asked, not understanding why she was smiling at a time like this.

“You’ll be taken away from here.”  She ignored his question, pulling out her phone and typing rapidly on it while she spoke.  “It isn’t a secure facility, but it’s the best we could manage on short notice, so we need to be out of here as quickly as possible.  There’s still a risk of some danger, but your presence has been requested at the safe house.”

“Safe house?” Greg asked, his head spinning.  What the hell was she talking about?

“The car is outside, go meet it.”  She nodded toward the door out and while he was following her gaze, she disappeared.

Greg turned to look at John, who shrugged at him.  Not knowing what else to do, Greg walked down the hallway and through the door, to find Mycroft’s car waiting for him.

Someone in a suit, probably a member of Mycroft’s security staff, opened the door for him and Greg froze when he realized that he wasn’t alone.  Sitting in the usual place, very much alive and looking well other than a cast on his arm, was Mycroft.

“Gregory!” Mycroft exclaimed, relief washing over his face.

Greg felt like he was going to faint.  “What happened?” he demanded weakly.

“Well, Gregory,” Mycroft said slowly, his eyes bright with emotion, “you broke my arm.  And you saved my life.”

Dazed, Greg sat there and listened to Mycroft explain the assassination attempt that Greg had interrupted by seeing the gunman and tackling Mycroft.  Instead of the bullet hitting Mycroft perfectly in one of the few weak points in the bulletproof vest he was wearing, it hit him square in the back, which hurt but didn’t damage him.

“Why were you wearing a bulletproof vest?” Greg squeaked out, staring at him.

Mycroft sighed.  “Some threats have been made recently, so security protocols are currently heightened.”

Panic welled up inside of Greg.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought the danger was exaggerated,” Mycroft admitted quietly.  “I apologize.”

“And...the blood?” Greg asked, looking down at his shirt.

“I did hit my head on the ground.”  Mycroft turned his head to show Greg a bandage.  “And you still broke my arm.  Thank you.”

Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s good hand, resisting the urge to kiss it.  He just held it instead, happy that Mycroft wasn’t stopping him.

After a few minutes the car stopped outside of a familiar building.

“What are we doing here?” Greg asked.

“This is the safest building in the country,” Mycroft said simply, leading the way out of the car.

As they stepped into the elevator, it hit Greg.  “Do you own this whole building?” he asked.

Mycroft chuckled and nodded.  “And the other people I’ve seen here?”  Greg had a suspicion about them, but he wanted it confirmed.

“All my people.  Some of them do actually live here.  Anthea has the penthouse.”

As Mycroft opened the door to his flat, Greg couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.  “I’m relieved that you’re okay,” he said a bit shyly.

Mycroft fixed him with a penetrating stare as he shut the door.  “We didn’t have a chance to finish our conversation.”

Greg felt his face flush.  He was hoping that the conversation would be forgotten for a bit in the chaos of the day.

Reading his mind, as usual, Mycroft gave him a kind smile.  “We have plenty of time to finish it.  For now, we should get some rest.”

“We…” Greg trailed off, not sure why Greg was included in that.

The door opened and Anthea bustled in, carrying Greg’s overnight bag.  “Threats have been made concerning your safety, Detective Inspector.  We’ve had you placed on leave until we can neutralize the threat and we’ll need you to stay here.”

Greg raised his eyebrows at her and then turned to Mycroft, who was chuckling.  “Gregory, would you do me the honor of being a guest in my house?”

“Of course, Mycroft, if you think it’s a good idea,” Greg told him.

He couldn’t know for sure, but he could have sworn that he heard Anthea mutter something along the lines of, “I’m sure he thinks it’s a splendid idea,” and he couldn’t stop his grin.  Maybe there was hope for him after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, looking over some tedious paperwork.  As with every assassination attempt, he was taking some time off to recuperate, but since there was still an active threat he needed to stay on informed.  It wasn’t unusual for an attempt to be made on Mycroft’s life, but it was unusual for it to be such a close call.

He wondered idly if the distraction of his situation had contributed to his lapse in judgement and subsequent narrow escape.  It was certainly something to consider, an additional complication to a potential relationship.

While he was mulling this new thought over, he heard a strange sound from the spare bedroom, which shared a wall with Mycroft’s bedroom.  Freezing, Mycroft listened carefully.  There it was again, a strangled whimper and then the sound of someone crying.

Mycroft was unsure of appropriate etiquette for the situation, but when he heard a terrified shout, he jumped out of bed and rushed into the spare room, flipping the light on.

Gregory was clearly having a nightmare.  He was shaking all over and crying, letting out occasional whimpers.  Mycroft approached him carefully and put his good hand on Gregory’s arm, shaking him gently.

“Gregory?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Gregory sat up quickly, chest heaving.  “What’s happening?” he asked breathlessly.

“I think you were having a nightmare,” Mycroft said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  “You don’t remember it?”

Gregory shook his head.  He put his face in his hands and took a deep breath.  “Did I wake you?”

Mycroft smiled.  “I, ah, I’m having a bit of trouble finding sleep tonight.”

“Intense day, huh?”  Gregory’s eyes were roaming all over Mycroft’s face.  “I’m sorry about your arm.”  He looked away, feeling guilty.

Mycroft couldn’t help himself, he laughed.  “You needn’t apologize for saving my life, Gregory.  I’m considering replacing my entire security staff with you.  You are clearly more effective than they are.”

“You’ll just have to spend more time with me, so I’m there to protect you,” Gregory murmured.  When he realized what he said, he blushed furiously and looked away again.

Mycroft took a deep, steadying breath.  There it was again, that flirting that made Mycroft’s iron box of emotions burst open and start causing problems.  “What were you saying at the cafe?” 

“What?” Gregory asked, frowning.

“Your feelings regarding me.”

“I’m not sure we should discuss this right now.”  Gregory’s eyes were dark and evasive and realization hit Mycroft with the force of a jet.

He had never actually  _ asked _ Gregory how he felt, he had assumed based on his observations.  It was rare for him to be incorrect, but…

Mycroft was out of his depth.  He was in the middle of the Pacific.

“Tell me,” Mycroft pleaded, not recognizing his own voice.

“I don’t want to make this worse.”

“There’s nothing capable of worsening this situation.”

Gregory closed his eyes.  “I think I’m in love with you.”

“ _ What? _ ” Mycroft croaked.  He had thought perhaps Gregory would express an interest in dating, but this?

Love?

No one loved Mycroft.  Especially not sexy men that made desire flare up, white hot, in Mycroft’s stomach.

“I love you.  Is that okay?” There was that vulnerability again, that nakedness that Mycroft couldn’t imagine letting show.

Mycroft nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  If he opened his mouth he might start babbling about exactly how okay it was and send Gregory running for the hills with his raw need and want.

“Can I kiss you?” Gregory asked in a whisper.

There it was.

Mycroft’s vulnerability.  Did he show it or hide it?

What would he want if the roles were reversed?

Mycroft cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.  “Yes, but I -- I’ve never…”

“Never what?”  Gregory reached out a hand and tenderly traced his thumb across Mycroft’s cheekbone and down his jaw before trailing it gently across his lips.

“I’ve never done that before.”  His eyes were closed as he willed the floor to open up and swallow him.  He would never get past this embarrassment, he was sure of it.  Being a virgin at his age was embarrassing, never having been kissed at his age was just absurd.

“O-okay.”  Gregory was stunned.  And then, he looked like he had received an electrical shock.  “Oh, Mycroft, I’m so sorry about last week.  I -- and you’ve never -- and.  Oh, no.”  He put his head in his hands as he suddenly understood why Mycroft reacted so badly to Gregory trying to kiss him.  

“I didn’t mean to basically force myself on you.”  Gregory sounded disgusted with himself, something Mycroft couldn’t stand.

“It’s forgotten,” Mycroft told him, reaching out and taking Gregory’s hand.  “I just didn’t want my first to be when you were intoxicated.”

“Well, I haven’t been drinking tonight,” Gregory said hopefully, his voice rough with feeling.

Mycroft felt a smile spread across his face.  “No, I suppose you haven’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just about to get into the good stuff, but I'm literally dozing off while typing, so I suppose it'll be up some time tomorrow.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this one!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a REALLY short chapter. Sorry about that. The next chapter (probably the last chapter) should be nice and long. Should be done sometime within the next ten hours.
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg was about to lean forward, but then, from nowhere, came a voice inside his head, a nagging, nasty voice.   _ He feels obligated because you saved him. _  “Are you sure you want this?”  

Mycroft looked surprised.  “Of course.  And -- and you?”

Greg smiled.  He always enjoyed throwing Mycroft off-kilter and hearing unfamiliar hesitation in his voice.  “Yes.  But you said…”

Mycroft looked away.  “Your friendship is important to me.  I was afraid that I would lose it.  I am unfamiliar with this situation.”  It sounded like he was forcing the words out, making himself say them and Greg squeezed his hand and gave him an encouraging smile.

“You’re important to me, too.  And that’s why me kissing you is a bad idea right now,” Greg said softly.

Mycroft’s eyes snapped back to Greg’s face, wide and full of hurt.

“No, that’s not what I meant!”  Greg mentally kicked himself.  Why did he always act like such an idiot around Mycroft?  “You’re too important.  It needs to be special.”

Mycroft let out a little huff of annoyance that made Greg want to hold him and never let go.  “I’m not a young girl, Gregory.”

Greg grinned.  “Of course not.  You’re more high maintenance.”

“I don’t believe I wish to sit here and be insulted,” Mycroft muttered, barely able to keep the smile off his face.

“I went on many dates with teenage girls in my youth and never once were we shot at.”  When Mycroft flushed with color, Greg reached out his free hand and stroked his cheek gently.  “None of them were worth being shot at, either.  You couldn’t be more different.”

The way that Mycroft was blushing and avoiding Greg’s gaze was incredibly sexy.  “You don’t even know, the effect you have on me, do you?”  Greg blurted out before he could stop himself.

“The…?  Oh.”  Mycroft’s eyes traveled down Greg’s body to his lap and then he cleared his throat and looked away again.

“You are so sexy when you’re uncomfortable,” Greg murmured.  He shifted slightly in his seat, realizing that he was going to embarrass himself if he continued the conversation too long.  “You should get some rest.  I have big plans for you tomorrow.”

“Plans?”

“We have a date.”  Greg knew he sounded more confident than he felt, still worried that Mycroft would think better of dating Greg at any moment.

Mycroft looked momentarily elated and then his face fell.  “It isn’t safe for us to leave the flat.”

“No need, love.  I’ll take care of everything.  You worry about getting better and I’ll worry about you.”

When Mycroft left, Greg sent a text message asking for help.  He wasn’t sure if his request would be well received or even received at all, given the late hour.  Fortunately, a response was quick in coming and put all of Greg’s worries to rest.

**Consider it done.  --Anthea**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here it is, the end. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :-)

_ Love. _  Mycroft fell asleep with Gregory calling him “love” ringing in his ears and when he awoke, his chest filled with a warm feeling when he remembered it.  Gregory.  His Gregory, now, Mycroft supposed.  His Gregory, who said he loved Mycroft, for all his awkwardness and stunted emotional growth.

“Good morning,” a voice said and Mycroft looked up to see Gregory sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Mycroft asked, mildly alarmed.

Gregory flushed bright red.  “Anthea sent me in with some papers for you to sign and I couldn’t help myself.  You looked so peaceful.  So beautiful.”

Mycroft’s chest felt tight.  He had noticed this reaction when Gregory called him “sexy” the night before.  No one had ever given him compliments like that before; every compliment he had received had concerned his vast intellect, not his physical form.  He wasn’t sure if he believed Gregory, but it was nice to hear those things, no matter how ridiculous they were.

“Would you like to stay in here for a bit?” Gregory asked, studying Mycroft carefully, especially his face.  When he glanced at Mycroft’s arm, it was clear what was worrying him.  Mycroft almost suppressed his pleasure at Gregory being concerned about him, but instead he let it show on his face.  Gregory had been very open, Mycroft could make an effort.

“What would you like to do?” Mycroft asked reaching back to probe the bandage on his head.  “You mentioned something about the two of us today?”

Gregory’s sultry chuckle sent a jolt of desire through Mycroft.  “Later, love.  For now, you should relax.  Build up your strength.”  He licked his lips and Mycroft felt faint.

Gregory set the papers he was holding on the bedside table and left, pausing at the doorway to turn and send Mycroft a longing look before disappearing.

 

***

 

For the first time in decades, Mycroft was persuaded to spend the day in bed, relaxing.  Greg waited on him hand and foot, enjoying taking care of Mycroft, who normally refused any help.  Mycroft even took a nap, something he was sure he hadn’t done since he was a very small child.  It was an oddly peaceful day, despite security threat.

In the late afternoon, Mycroft took a thoroughly unsatisfying shower, during which he had to take care not to get water on his cast.  He was dressing himself when he realized that he couldn’t button his shirt.  He had already settled on just a shirt, tie, and waistcoat, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to wear his jacket over the cast, but now it looked like he wouldn’t even be able to wear a shirt.

With a sigh he wandered into the living room, making Gregory look up from the book he was reading to smile at him.  Gregory’s eyes swept down Mycroft, his breath speeding up just enough to be noticeable.

“Need some help?” Gregory asked.

Mycroft nodded, feeling flushed.  “Please.”

Gregory stood and crowded into Mycroft’s personal space, standing closer than was necessary.

Mycroft wasn’t going to complain, however, he enjoyed feeling Gregory’s body heat so close.

“This feels wrong,” Gregory murmured and a flash of panic shot through Mycroft.  “I should be taking your shirt off, not putting it on.”

Mycroft blushed and Gregory grinned.  Apparently he quite liked it when he made Mycroft nervous.

To be honest, Mycroft liked it, too.

When he was fully dressed, Gregory smiled and offered Mycroft his arm.  “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Mycroft asked, gently placing his arm through Gregory’s.

“Dinner.  Come on.”  Gregory led Mycroft into his kitchen.

When they made it through the doors, Mycroft stopped in his tracks, staring around.  It was unrecognizable. The table was beautifully laid with a tablecloth and fine china plates, with had appeared to be a gourmet dinner and Mycroft’s favorite wine.  The empty counters were covered in flowers and lit candles, leaving the room in romantic semi-darkness.

“This is beautiful,” Mycroft breathed.  Gregory was practically glowing as Mycroft crossed the room and opened the refrigerator, which was filled to bursting with a variety of food.  

He raised an eyebrow at Gregory, who chuckled.  “If I’m going to take care of you, I’ll need to do it properly.”

“Did you make this?” Mycroft asked, looking at the food on the table.

Gregory pulled a chair out for Mycroft and they sat together.  “I told you I could cook.”

 

***

 

Dinner was, as Mycroft expected, a lovely meal.  Not only was the food delicious, but the company was excellent.  When they were done eating, Mycroft leaned back in his chair, smiling at Gregory.

“You are a man of many talents,” Mycroft said.

“And you haven’t even seen my best skills yet,” Gregory told him, making Mycroft flush red again.  “Speaking of skills, it’s time for the next part of our date.”  He stood and led Mycroft back into the living room, which had been transformed while they were eating, like the kitchen covered in flowers and candles.  The couch was pushed against one wall instead of in the center of the room and there was music playing on Mycroft’s small stereo.

Mycroft laughed.  “Anthea must like you.”

“That’s good, because, frankly, she terrifies me.”

“She should, she’s learned from the best.”

“Are you saying that you should terrify me, too?” Gregory asked, stepping into the middle of the room and holding his hand out to Mycroft.

Mycroft took Gregory’s hand and let himself be pulled in to dance.  He smiled as Gregory rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, like he had the first time they danced together.

“Did you know it was me from the start?  At the party?”  Gregory’s voice was quiet.

“Of course,” Mycroft said, keeping his voice low.  He felt a shiver go through Gregory when he spoke and grinned.  Well, at least he was confident in his ability to sound sexy.  “You didn’t recognize me.”

“You knew that.  That’s why you flirted with me the way you did.  You never would have otherwise.”

“No.  Too shy, I suppose.”

Gregory pulled away from Mycroft a bit to study his face.  “Why is that?  You are incredibly sexy.  Why don’t you recognize that?”

Mycroft didn’t know how to answer him.  He knew the reasons, knew about the years of being told his only worth lay in his mind and the abuse he had suffered about his appearance as a youth, but they all seemed so silly now, held safely in Gregory’s arms.

Gregory stopped moving and leaned in.  Mycroft let his eyes flutter closed as soft lips touched his and his brain came crashing to a halt.

All he could think about was the soft, wet heat at his lips and the strong arms around him, encircling him.  Gregory ran his tongue along Mycroft’s lower lip and, surprised at the new sensation, Mycroft opened his mouth in a gasp.  Gregory took advantage of the moment and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into Mycroft’s mouth.

Mycroft had always thought kissing sounded disgusting.  He never understood why people would want to mix their saliva and feel each others tongues, an organ he had never found particularly attractive.  But now, with Gregory’s soft lips firmly on his own, their hot breath mingling in his mouth, he couldn’t get enough. 

He whined when Gregory pulled back, not wanting it to stop.  Gregory chuckled and pressed their foreheads together, panting lightly.  “Okay?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Mycroft mumbled, feeling like he was going to explode from the new sensations he had to catalogue and study when he had a moment to think, once he got his brain working again.

“Would you like to do more?” Gregory breathed.

“Oh,  _ yes. _ ”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”  Gregory’s voice was nervous.  “I don’t want to pressure you into something…”

“I’ve been ready for thirty-five years, Gregory.”

“Then what the hell are we doing still out here?”  Gregory took a step back and they stared at each other for a moment before coming together to kiss with an amount of force that was surprising to Mycroft.  He slid his arms around Gregory’s neck and gasped as strong hands slid down to his backside and he was lifted off his feet, instinctively wrapping his legs around Gregory’s trim waist.  He bent his head down and nibbled at Gregory’s ear, remembering how nice it felt.  Gregory shivered and moaned into Mycroft’s neck, his breath coming out in hot puffs that lit Mycroft’s skin with pleasure.

“I’ve been aching to get my hands on your arse,” Gregory growled as he carried Mycroft into the bedroom.  He set Mycroft down on the bed and moved to push him back.  Mycroft panicked internally, his brain shouting at him to remain in control, no matter what.  He resisted Gregory, trying to look as sexy as possible.

“Let me,” he said, pulling Gregory down to the bed and pushing him onto his back.

“What are you doing?” Gregory asked with wide eyes as Mycroft unbuttoned his trousers.

“Is this -- is this okay?” Mycroft asked, his hands stalling.  He could feel Gregory’s cock under his hands, separated from him by far too much fabric.  He pressed against it, adding “fabric-covered erection” to his mental list things to file away in his mind later.

Gregory’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing was fast, and color was rising in his cheeks.   _ Interesting _ , Mycroft thought, studying his face and thanking the universe for his eidetic memory: he knew he would never want to forget this.

Gregory nodded and Mycroft went back to work, pulling Gregory’s trousers and pants off in one smooth motion.  He slid his good hand up the thick, muscular thigh, enjoying the feeling of smooth skin and coarse hair under his fingers.

His hand moved slowly toward Gregory’s inner thigh, watching carefully for a reaction.  When Gregory twitched he smiled, mentally marking a line where Gregory became ticklish.  Curious, he leaned his head down and licked the spot, which made Gregory jerk.

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly.

“Experimenting.”  Mycroft lay his head down on Gregory’s thigh and studied his cock, which was erect and throbbing.  He licked his lips and planted a few wet kisses around the base of it before licking a line up the underside of it.  A sharp intake of breath told him that his exploration was being appreciated and he smiled to himself as he slipped his lips up and over the tip.  He leaned forward and took Gregory all the way into his mouth, pressing down until he felt pressure on the back of his throat and choked.  He pulled off, pressing kisses to the tip and shooting a smile up at Gregory, who was watching him with a look of desire that almost frightened Mycroft with its intensity.  Flustered by the look on Gregory’s face, he returned his attention to the throbbing cock that was resting against his lips.  He slipped it into his mouth again and sucked hard on the tip, bobbing his head slightly as he worked.

He was vaguely aware of Gregory moaning and whispering filthy things, the noise of his voice a comforting buzz in the background as he focused everything he could on using the perfect amount of pressure and movement.  When the noise increased in volume and urgency, he swooped down so that he could feel Gregory’s cock hit the back of his throat again.  Ready this time, he didn’t panic when he felt himself choke, instead focusing on breathing through his nose and enjoying the sensations as he bobbed his head, feeling Gregory’s shaft slipping in and out of his throat.

One of Gregory’s hands came to rest on the back of his head, fingers tightening in his hair as he heard a verbal warning from above him.  He increased his speed and suction until Gregory was groaning and he felt the hips beneath him jerk as warmth filled the back of his throat.

The next thing he knew, Gregory’s strong hands were pulling him up, and arms were wrapped around him as he lay his head on Gregory’s shoulder, inhaling his musky scent and sighing happily.

His own need was pressing firmly against his trousers, but Mycroft was happy where he lay, delighting in the feeling of being held,

“That was amazing,” Gregory whispered, stroking Mycroft’s hair.

“You’re amazing,” Mycroft whispered, closing his eyes and relaxing.

Gregory laughed.  “You’re still fully dressed.”  His hand traced patterns on Mycroft’s shoulder, over his shirt.  “That’s the way you like things, huh?  Not vulnerable at all, protected from everything?”

“How can you always read my mind?” Mycroft asked quietly.

“Let me in, Mycroft.  It feels like we’re almost there, but you’re resisting the final push into fully letting me in.”  Gregory sounded frustrated, which made Mycroft feel guilty.  This gorgeous man had opened himself fully to Mycroft, and still Mycroft was refusing to allow him the most basic of access to his heart and body.

“What do you want me to do?” Mycroft asked.

Gregory took a deep breath.  “I don’t necessarily want you to do anything.  I just want you to feel comfortable with me.  What can I do for you?”

Mycroft thought for a moment and then smiled, remembering earlier.  “Well, I’m not able to undress myself, so I will require some assistance.”

Pushing Mycroft back onto the bed, Gregory sat up and smiled at him.  Mycroft felt a sense of peace looking up at this man who wanted to take care of him, who made him feel happier than ever before, who had risked being shot to save Mycroft’s life.

“I love you,” Gregory whispered, leaning down to kiss Mycroft as he began to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt.

Gregory kissed his way down Mycroft’s chest, pausing to palm Mycroft’s cock through his trousers.  “Okay?” Gregory asked.

Mycroft nodded, his cock aching for release.  “Please,” he whispered, biting his lip to stop from saying anything more embarrassing.

With a practiced hand, Gregory removed Mycroft’s trousers and pants and then wrapped his hand around Mycroft’s erection, pulling on it in long, hard strokes.

Mycroft shut his eyes and let himself get lost in the sensation, feeling it crash over him like waves on the beach.  He was babbling, telling Gregory how sexy he was, how good his hand felt, how badly he wanted him.  It was as if he had no control over his mouth or body, he was just reacting to Gregory’s body, moving on instinct.

Before he could adjust to the sensations filling him, he felt himself reach his peak and heard himself shouting a warning out to Gregory, who bent his head and engulfed Mycroft’s sensitive cock in wet heat just in time for Mycroft to explode with pleasure.

Gregory crawled back up to the head of the bed and pulled Mycroft into his arms.   “Thoughts?” he asked quietly.

Mycroft smiled.  “I love you.”

“What?”  Gregory sounded surprised.

“You asked for my thoughts.  Right now I’m thinking that I love you," Mycroft said, then let out a happy little sigh and relaxed into Gregory’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone had any comments/thoughts on this, especially on the smutty part, please feel free to let me know. Smut isn't really my thing, so I'd love to know how I did with it.
> 
> Also, I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo in April. If anyone has anything they'd like to read let me know and I'll get it on my list of story ideas. You can comment or email me (address is in my profile).


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